In the Spirit of Giving
by windofbanners
Summary: Five times the avengers gave each other gifts, and how each time, they realized that they were, in fact, a family. Includes air vents, sandwiches, and pop tarts. No slash. Features the whole team. A feel-good fic for the winter holidays.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Written because I absolutely adore this team and Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanza/insert-your-holiday-here is coming up so I wanted to combine the two. No slash! Slight Clintasha. Five-parter with each team member and a possible epilogue. Thor will be obsessed with Pop-Tarts and there will be sandwiches. You have been warned :)

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- gift -

/_noun_/ a thing given willingly to someone with payment, a present

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Clint frowns at the gaping woman at the end of the aisle. He hadn't counted on being recognized by civilians. With his jeans and sweatshirt, he had thought he blended in quite well, actually.

He follows her gaze and twists around to see if there's a stain on the back of his hoodie. He sees his quiver instead.

…Even superheroes need to shop sometimes….

He shrugs and goes back to searching the shelves for popcorn. When he finds the boxes of Orville Redenbacher, he pushes five boxes into his basket. Lately, all the Avengers had been doing was watching movies in an attempt to educate Steve and Thor about modern culture. Yesterday was Mean Girls, today was the Notebook, and Tash had told him that Tony was vying for the Titanic next.

He's about to leave when a row of boxes catches his eye and sparks his memory.

Two weeks ago, he had been watching tv with Thor when a commercial for a new flavor of pop-tarts had flashed onto the screen. The demigod had immediately gasped with delight before begging Clint to come with him to the store so that he could try "this marvelously colored sustainment."

Of course, them being the Avengers, the world had needed saving at precisely that moment and they had never really gotten around to getting Thor's new pop tarts. Clint picks up the box and remembers how Thor had gotten on his knees just to plead for the breakfast snack.

Quickly, he decides to get them and surprise the demigod, just for kicks. He smirks to himself thinking about Thor's reaction. The Asgardian will most likely beam with joy before booming out a laugh and squeezing him in his arms. He'll beg Thor to let him go, and Thor'll do so, with a last bone-crushing thump to his back before he rips into the pop-tarts. Everybody will come to watch him eat, Bruce with a quiet smile, Tony with a smirk, and then they'll all go settle onto their places in the living room and watch the movie together.

And then he blinks.

He, Hawkeye, master assassin, S.H.I.E.L.D agent, the best sharpshooter the world has even seen, is standing in an aisle of Stop & Shop, smiling like an idiot at a box of Wildilicious Wild!Berry Pop Tarts just because of a demigod with eyes like a puppy and a heart of a child.

He briefly considers running from the store, stealing a plane, and fleeing the country to live in the depths of the Amazonian jungle with only his bow for company, shooting things to regain his manliness and never forming human contact again.

In the end, he chucks three damn boxes of the pop-tarts into his basket. If anybody asks, well, that's why he has a bow in the first place.

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**A/N**: Leave a review and make my day?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I think I've read through this entire fandom...I HAVE NO LIFE PEOPLE. Have also been attacked by rabid plot bunnies and have like 15 half-finished stories on the computer right now...CAN'T STOP WRITING.

Thanks to everyone who alerted/faved the last chapter. Special thanks to the lovely people who left a review!

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It happens to him when he is on Asgard.

After an extended visit on the world that the mortals call home, Thor is pleased to return to his native world, and revels in the presence of his people and the city that surrounds him.

But after a few days, something feels off to him. He at first surmises that this feeling within his chest is due to the hunger pangs of traveling between realms, and he hastens to fill it with food (three boars, a roasted goose, and a spitted fowl). But for all his attempts, the ache grows, and no amount of stewed meat can fill this hunger within him that grows every day.

It's a cloak, of all things, that jolts him out of his depressive state. It is a marvelous example of Asgardian craftsmanship, a brilliantly scarlet cloak of the finest silk, woven in the presence of the morning star, and it immediately reminds him of a woman whose locks of flaming hair match the fluttering cloth.

As his hands, drawn by some magnetizing power, are drawn towards cloak, it ripples, moving without a breeze. Thor handles it gently, more than aware of his strength, but he finds that he need not worry about tearing the cloth. Although it seems to be woven from gossamer, the silk is heavy and cool against his skin, with a sinewy strength infused into the fabric that belies that of the Lady Widow.

When he returns to the Tower of Stark, he barely gives the Avengers time to rise from their seats before he booms out his customary greetings and squeezes them in an affectionate embrace. He releases them and they stagger away from him, pretending to gasp for air. He laughs joyously. Truly, these mortals are amusing in their antics.

His gaze hones in on the Lady Widow and he strides towards her, beaming. "My lady! I come bearing a gift," he says. He pulls out the cloak from under his own and shakes it loose in a billow of red silk before offering it to the woman warrior. "It is a garment fit to adorn even your powerful persona."

He waits for her to take it, and although he doesn't expect an embrace and certainly not a kiss, he did not expect her face to stiffen, freeze, and solidify into something akin to marble.

His smile fades quickly as she stares at him in this manner, and his excitement falls like the Man Stark without his suit. "Does the gift not please you, Lady Widow?"

Her eyes widen. "No Thor, it's very...very nice of you." She reaches out and takes the cloak from him, the red silk rippling from his hands into her like a cascade of fire. "It's just...unexpected, that's all."

The smile immediately returns to Thor's face at the stunned look on the Lady's own. These Midgardians were strange in many of their mannerisms, but he would accept the mortal's expression of shock what he assumed it was – happiness in the purest form.

He never ends up seeing that article of clothing again, but the smile of the Son of Barton lets him know that he made the right choice.

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A/N: I wish I could write Thor better...it's so hard to do him justice :) Feedback is adored!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: There's something that I just love about Steve. It's not _just_ his beautiful, chiseled, fantabulous body (although that totally helps!), but also his personality. He's like a little lost puppy that you just want to pick up and cuddle with…*sigh*

WARNING: Shameless self advertising ahead! I've posted another Avengers stories so feel free to go and check them out. _painting paper hearts _is about the five times Steve draws each of the Avengers and the one time he draws himself. It's filled with team bonding and Steve goodness (See reasons above for the benefits of Steve goodness).

Thanks to all those who reviewed the last chapter! And now, let's get on with the fic!

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Mustard, lettuce, pickles, ham, tomatoes, pepper, and onions. Steve scans the items on the counter with a content smile, pulls out a loaf of bread, and adds it to the pile of food that spans the kitchen island in its entirety.

There's nothing better than a post-workout snack, he thinks to himself as he assembles his sandwich creation. New York outside the window and the rest of Stark Tower is dark and quiet from the type of stillness that comes when the rest of the world is slumbering, just the way Steve likes it.

He sits down with a tall glass of milk and his meal, and as he chews, he lets his mind drift to that night's dinner.

He frowns suddenly. Come to think of it, he hadn't seen Tony at all for the past couple of days. Bruce had been acting as a sort of messenger, telling them wearily that Tony was _this close_ to perfecting some contraption, but Steve realized that he had never assured them that the man was actually still _alive. _

A furrow in his forehead, Steve speaks up. "Jarvis?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How long has it been since Tony has eaten?"

There's a pause before Jarvis answers. "By my calculations sir...37 hours."

Steve nearly falls off the chair in shock before he's up on his feet, muttering curses under his breath. Tony Stark is an idiot.

He marches back to the counter and begins assembling another sandwich, bigger than one he's made ever before. He adds turkey, chicken, and beef (for protein), and tomatoes, lettuce, peppers, and broccoli (for vitamins). He even adds peppers because he knows that Tony likes them, even though they set his own mouth on fire.

Balancing his monstrosity along with a tall glass of lemonade, Steve carefully carries the meal down to Tony's lab, where Jarvis kindly overrides the locks and opens the doors for him.

He enters the room to find Tony already in hysterics at him for breaking his concentration, and even though he tries to explain to the man that everybody needs food and drink, regardless of whether they can fly a magic metal suit, Tony throws a hammer at him.

They end up screaming at each other for eighteen minutes (Steve lecturing Tony about his health, Tony screeching out euphemisms and swears) before Tony starts laughing madly to himself about sex and drugs and Steve storms out the door muttering about stupid scientists.

He leaves behind the sandwich though.


End file.
